Letter for the Muse

                                                        /For George Sand for Chopin and for You/

29.12.2016, Thursday:

In the Turkish bath.
I see you floating in the steam: fair branch of birch.
I wonder of this weightless loving -if it scratches if violates?
I endeavor not to hurt.
But, if will art be from flooding? White flaming.
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I see you...sitting a few rows away.
Your shirt sleeve and collar flashes up.
And the scarf, like a lazy snake, it fits your body bohemianly.
You are whispering over the shoulders
and the fragile woman’s fingers play on the harp nerves.
...and your hand, as it metamorphoses your instrument to a swinging girl in crimson brocade.
The breast-pins and riches slew.
I loose my breath and the rising sigh, like gentle quote lean amid my bosoms...